


Surprise Congratulations

by Reyka_Sivao



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: BAMF Amanda Grayson, Canon Compliant, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, M/M, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28518870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyka_Sivao/pseuds/Reyka_Sivao
Summary: Amok Time episode tag.McCoy wants to be prepared for the NEXT time the green-blooded hobgoblin starts throwing soup, so he turns to the only person he can find who might both know the answer AND might actually tell him: the Vulcan ambassador’s human wife.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 19
Kudos: 173





	Surprise Congratulations

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind that Journey to Babel hasn’t happened yet, and that McCoy never actually heard Spock's explanation.
> 
> Also, this is TOTALLY running with the headcanon from that one tumblr post about how satisfying pon farr, including by combat, equals marriage.

Doctor McCoy sat in front of his comm unit, thinking very hard about all the reasons he shouldn’t do what he was very much about to do. 

But what else _could_ he do?

With a glare of annoyed determination, he hit the button to path through the call. 

A human woman in an almost-Vulcan outfit appeared on the screen. 

“Doctor,” she said. “I must admit I was surprised to hear from you. To what do I owe the honor?”

McCoy put on his best southern gentleman smile. “Aside from the honor of seeing such a lovely lady as yourself?”

She laughed. “And before we’ve properly met! I’m Amanda Grayson, or Amanda, wife of Sarek, don’t ask me to try and say the Vulcan last name.”

“It’s a pleasure, Ms Grayson. Doctor McCoy at your service.”

“Please, just Amanda. But I doubt you wanted to call only to make introductions—though I admit that I’m at a loss of why else you might wish to speak to me.”

Yeah, about that.

“Well, you see,” said McCoy, not entirely sure HE saw, “it’s something of a...medical...consultation.”

Amanda gave him a look that questioned his sanity. 

McCoy gave a tiny laugh and scratched his eyebrow awkwardly. “I know it’s...unorthodox, but I seem to be running into an inordinate number of roadblocks when I try to get information any of the usual ways.” He grumped and shook his head. “Easier to get blood from a stone than answers from a Vulcan who thinks you’re overstepping the bounds of propriety!”

Amanda’s eyebrows rose toward her elaborate headscarf. “You speak from experience, I see.”

“Well, yes,” said McCoy, and then tried very hard to make his phrasing as vague as possible, even though it probably wouldn’t help in the end. “There’s this Vulcan patient, you see. And there was this...incident...that APPARENTLY involved Vulcan biology being profoundly self-defeating.”

“I see,” said Amanda.

McCoy sat back and draped his arm over the back of the seat with an exaggerated and entirely false air of casual interest. “See, I rather figured you might,” he said, letting just a touch more drawl than usual into his voice. “Of course, it’s not that I want to _pry,_ but—” He shrugged with one arm. “But it’s also my job to try and keep people from dying, if I can help it. If this comes up again, I’d rather not be blinder than a bat in a blizzard. So you see my dilemma.”

“I do indeed,” said Amanda. “Though to be honest I’m surprised you know to ask.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Where to start…”

“If I may make a suggestion...I’d like to know what the damn thing is _called._ ”

“Didn’t get that much, hmm?”

McCoy snorted. “What I _got_ was some incredibly concerning endocrine readings and an invitation to a wedding.”

Amanda did a double take, twice. 

“A _wedding invitation?_ ”

McCoy panicked. Maybe they WEREN’T on the same page?

Amanda recaptured most of her composure and nodded slightly. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “When you said ‘patient’, I wasn’t expecting that level of...comradery.”

“So…”

“So, your patient—your friend—must have at least let you in on the solution to the...problem at hand.”

“I can put two and two together.”

“Well then.” Amanda sat back for a moment. “To answer your first question, it’s called pon farr, and yes, it can be deadly.”

“Fantastic. So how often am I gonna have to keep an eye out for soup-throwing?”

Amanda’s eyebrows rose again, but she let the comment pass. “Around every seven years. If this one involved a wedding, your friend will presumably be better prepared for next time, though.”

“If only it had ended with a marriage,” scoffed McCoy without thinking. 

Amanda's expression screeched to a halt. “I’m...sorry?”

“It, uh,” said McCoy, trying to think of a graceful way to extricate his foot from his mouth. “It...was somewhat...less than…”

“A Vulcan wedding...without a marriage?” said Amanda, looking alarmed. “Is your friend all _right?”_

“I...yes?” 

_“How?”_

McCoy vigorously tried to scrub his mistake out with the heels of his palms on his forehead. “There was something of an...annulment. A divorce duel. Something, hell if I know.”

“A kal-if-fee?!” said Amanda, not looking any less horrified.

“Yeah, that sounds—” started McCoy. Then he paused, remembered the rules of the fight, and stumbled back to clarify. “He didn’t kill anyone either!”

Amanda looked less horrified but more confused.

“I mean, not for lack of trying. He definitely would have, humans aren’t exactly built for Vulcan. No offense.”

“None take—human?”

“Hmm?”

“The...other fighter was _human?”_

“...wasn’t supposed to say that,” mumbled McCoy. 

Amanda shook her head disbelievingly. “Was it you?”

“I...no...he was...I was just watching.”

Amanda slowly shook her head. “So...you have a Vulcan friend close enough to invite you to the koon-ut kal-if-fee, along with ANOTHER human friend, the kal-if-fee is actually CALLED, your human friend somehow ends up the champion, and survives? Have I gotten this straight?”

“....I take it that’s not how it usually goes.”

“Not precisely, no.”

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said. “I didn’t even mean to say any of that. All I really needed to know if there’s anything I should do next time his endocrine system tries to murder him, especially if he hasn’t managed to snag a spouse by then and goes into another murderous rage.”

“About that.”

McCoy looked up. “ _Please_ tell me that’s a useful ‘about that’.”

“Could be,” said Amanda cheerfully. “Or it could make everything...complicated.”

“MORE complicated?”

“Possibly.”

“How in the name of my granny’s fresh peach cobbler could this get _more_ complicated.”

“That depends on how straight your friends are.”

“How...is that a Vulcan term I don’t know because—”

“No, I mean heterosexual.”

“Why would that…”

McCoy stopped. He replayed the images of the fight with a new filter, overlaid by every look Kirk and Spock had ever exchanged in his presence. “Oh sweet merciful barbecued hades.”

“....it sounds like you might have some use, then, for the information that in the VERY few cases this has come up in Vulcan legal history, the surviving combatants have been considered married to each other.”

McCoy sank back into his seat so hard he slipped halfway out of it. 

“Anyway, that’s how. I hope that’s some help to you, but...complicated.”

“You weren’t kidding,” muttered McCoy. 

Amanda smiled a small but vibrant smile. “Vulcans usually are,” she said. “But…well, it’s really up to your friends now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said McCoy, “assuming they ever manage to communicate this information.” He looked up at the ceiling. “And I get the _distinct_ impression that I’ve just been assigned bearer of...complicated...news.”

“If you think that’s what’s best.”

“I don’t,” said McCoy sourly. “I think that’s what’s _only.”_ He sighed and looked back up. “Thank you. I never would have gotten a word of that otherwise.”

“And I, of course, haven’t heard a word you’ve said.”

“Thanks,” said McCoy with a nod. “Wish me luck.”

—

McCoy stood awkwardly outside Kirk’s quarters, where the computer told him both of his unwitting targets were.

Before he could think better of it, he hit the buzzer. 

“...come?”

The door slid open WAY too soon. 

McCoy stepped in to see Kirk and Spock sitting on opposite sides of a chessboard with only a few moves on it. 

“Bones!” said Kirk. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Oh,” said McCoy, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. “Just...got some interesting news to share?”

“Well, I hope it isn’t...the kind of interesting that leads to a red alert.”

“No,” said McCoy. “No...I don’t think so. Probably not.”

Spock was the one who raised an eyebrow at that. “‘Probably’, doctor?”

“I mean...no. It’s just that I’ve seen stranger things on this godforsaken ship.”

“What was your news?” said Kirk. 

“Well, you see...I was just speaking to someone who knows something about Vulcan legal precedent.”

Spock suddenly managed to look extremely uncomfortable without having actually moved a muscle. 

Kirk frowned. “And that...qualifies as news?”

“Well, what I was told might.”

“Doctor, do you really think this is necessary?”

McCoy glared at him. “Guess I was two for two here—one, you know perfectly well, and two, you haven’t thought it ‘necessary’ to mention!”

“Mention _what?”_

“Oh, nothing much,” drawled McCoy, switching to his Georgia best. “Just thought I’d come to offer my congratulations.”

Kirk tilted his head. “Your...congratulations.”

“Doctor—“

“Why, on y’all’s recent marriage, of course.”

A greenish tinge was working its way up from under Spock’s collar when they both turned to look at him.

“Spock…?”

“It is...technically the case that surviving combatants of a kal-if-fee are considered spouses on Vulcan. However, human custom and federation law—” 

“Oh,” Kirk interrupted. “I suppose that explains the sex.”

Spock turned even greener, which McCoy couldn’t even properly appreciate because he was busy forgetting how to breathe. 

“I...I guess y’all had me worried for nothing,” he muttered, turning on his heel. “I’m just going to go pretend I never got it in my head to barge in here.”

“I call dibs on you as best man!”

The closing door blessedly cut off any need for a coherent response. 

Doctor McCoy paused to gather his last two wits, shook his head, and slowly let himself smile. 

  
  



End file.
